


I Wear My Heart On My T-Shirts

by Anthrobrat



Series: Friendly Relations [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, But it's funny, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24772486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthrobrat/pseuds/Anthrobrat
Summary: Babe knows himself. He gets that people are attracted to him in the same vague way that he knows how to, like, ride a bicycle. It doesn’t mean he has any idea what to do with that knowledge. He’s not ever going to win a Tour de France and he also might never understand the logistics of how to turn a flash of attraction into something important.“You’re not undateable, Babe. I promise.”Or 5 times Gene bought Babe a t-shirt and the 1 time (of many) Babe reciprocated
Relationships: Babe Heffron/Eugene Roe
Series: Friendly Relations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791559
Comments: 21
Kudos: 41





	I Wear My Heart On My T-Shirts

**Author's Note:**

> @mariamegale once told me: "confused and horny" is something Babe would think was hilarious to get tattooed on, like, the inside of his bottom lip. Eugene convinces him to settle for getting it printed on a crop top." 
> 
> That line was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and this fic is in celebration of it. Also, all of the t-shirts are from her brain but she won't let me make her a cocreator. 
> 
> And if you need any sort of resolution to this pining, go check out [this series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722178)
> 
> Lastly all the thanks to @mariamegale and @gottapenny (dickjokesanddoilies) because they keep me going and read my stuff.
> 
> (These characters are representations of fictional HBO characters, and I have the utmost respect for the real gentlemen of Easy Co and the 101st.)

Babe knows himself. He gets that people are attracted to him in the same vague way that he knows how to, like, ride a bicycle. It doesn’t mean he has any idea what to do with that knowledge. He’s not ever going to win a Tour de France and he also might never understand the logistics of how to turn a flash of attraction into something important. 

His mother called him a late bloomer when he was in high school, and he assumed it was mostly because he didn’t know how to be gay in a Catholic school. Except now he’s out of that situation, household, closet, and he still can’t quite figure out how this all works. 

It’s not like this logistics issue makes him a blushing virgin or anything. He knows how to get laid, and well. He also knows how to be a great friend and a person people can laugh with (at) and depend on. But sometimes he wishes any of it could turn into something more substantial. Maybe the problem is people, but honestly maybe the problem is him.

Babe is at the bar tonight with his best friend Bill, who has literally never had to worry about these logistics. He met his one and only at the ass-early age of 15 and hasn’t questioned that for a single day since. This does not keep Bill from attempting to be Babe’s blissfully unaware wingman every time they are in public. 

It started with high school parties and Bill pointing out literally any single person of the female variety, and then to bars that skip past fake IDs and Bill pointing out single people of any variety, and finally, as Babe settled into his own sexuality, Bill pointing out potential guys and Babe trying to discern whether it was worth the embarrassment. Bill is still working on finely tuning his people reading skills, because as he tells it, “being a straight wingman to your gay best friend isn’t as easy as it looks.”

Tonight’s conquest begged off early because he “has to work early tomorrow,” but did leave Babe his card, which everyone knows is code for “maybe don’t bother.” At this point it’s been long enough that Babe is considering not bothering with the chit chat ever, since that never seems to go anywhere anyway. He considers leaving the bar without saying goodbye, since Bill’s face is buried in his phone texting Frannie updates, but even now he’s not one to be rude. 

“I’m gonna head home. I think I’ve had enough for one night.” 

“Yea, yea, I get it. That one looked promising. Eh, what’re ya gonna do about it. I’ll see ya later Buddy.”

When Babe finally makes it home from the bar, Bill’s back on speakerphone, 2 drinks closer to obliterated, bitching about Babe tanking the softball he threw in the form of that guy at the bar with the cute butt and the business card. Like somehow it’s Babe’s fault that the guy doesn’t understand the importance of intricate tactical formations in paintball. Babe ends the call mid-rant to collapse on the couch next to his favorite roommate. Babe feels a little bad interloping on Gene’s docuseries, but this quarter life romantic crisis requires input.

“He’s my best friend. I love him. But I swear. Ole Gonorrhea may see everything, but he has no idea what he’s talking about. I can’t pick guys up at the bar! It’s too overwhelming! If they show any interest, I just end up flustered. I turn into confused and horny Babe! I’m like a horny confused wombat!”

Gene huffs out a laugh, clearly not having expected Babe to start at the middle of the conversation. “You should tattoo that on yourself. Suits you”

“What? A wombat? What even is a wombat?” 

“Nah, Heffron. Confused and Horny.” 

Babe barks a laugh at Gene’s inadvertent joke, leaning his head over so they’re touching. If Eugene ever really told him to tattoo something on himself, he probably would. After living together this long, he trusts the man’s judgment about his life decisions implicitly. 

“What do you think?” Babe says, “Right across my forehead? Maybe on the inside of my bottom lip? Actually, those might be kind of painful… But at least then hotties at bars will know what they’re getting into”

“Trust me, your blush already gives you away.” Gene says, finally tilting his eyes away from the TV.

“Ah, can you not remind me please?” Babe croaks, burying his face in Gene’s chest. He appreciates that he found a roommate who is mostly completely fine with his lack of personal boundaries. Some days he thinks Gene soaks them up. Babe rolls over and looks up, laughing. “You know, I don’t think I’ve managed a single hook up in four months. I’ve lost all my game.”

“Nah, you’ll figure it out. Maybe you’re not giving off the right vibe?” Gene asks, and Babe gets the feeling he means _you should probably stop going to bars with Bill if you’re looking to pick up a guy._ But Babe would never do that to his best friend. 

Suddenly an idea strikes, and he borderline shouts, “Gene! Remind me in the morning, I need to buy a shirt.”

“Well that’s vague,” replies Gene, who pauses the show to look back at him. 

“I need a shirt that will announce to the good patrons of a bar that I am horny and would like to be taken home!” Babe halfheartedly throws a hand into the air in solidarity with himself.

Gene snorts a laugh, and Babe starts to doze on Gene’s shoulder as Gene turns his show back on. Babe knows he should probably sack out in his actual bed, but Gene’s shoulder is kind of a favorite spot, and unlike his bed, it’s not always available. It’s important to take advantage.

In the morning, Babe wakes up sprawled across the couch with only a minor headache, thank fuck. He remembers feeling like he had a brilliant idea, but forgets what the brilliant idea was. When he asks Gene if he mentioned anything, the man is characteristically silent, giving only a quick shrug of his shoulder. 

—-

Babe goes about his life until two weeks later, when a package arrives bearing his name.

“Gene, did I order something while drunk or should I be worried someone has shipped me a pipe bomb?” 

“Oh, has it already arrived? Babe, who ships a 22 year old guy a pipe bomb?” Gene asks, willfully not clearing up any of Babe's confusion.

“No one knows why they receive a pipe bomb. That’s the whole point. Anyway, _it_ did show up, but I still don’t know what _it_ is. $10 says pipe bomb. I have a good feeling.” 

“Not a pipe bomb. I bought you something. To help with your predicament.” Is Gene's smug reply. That face. Sometimes Babe wants to just… kiss it. No, smack it. He just wants to _something_ that grin off of one Eugene Roe’s face. Instead of following through on either plan, he sets about opening his mystery package. Inside is a soft, vintage, heather green T-shirt, which when unfolded reads _Confused and Horny_ in obnoxiously large sparkling print across the chest.

“What the Actual Fuck, Eugene?” 

“Well, Edward, you said you wanted to announce your intentions. This was the most fitting shirt I could find.” Gene doesn’t even have the decency to look up from his coffee. 

He bought Babe a shirt. Gene bought him a shirt that is the exact right color for his eyes and will go great with his bomber jacket, with just the right amount of sparkle. The fuck is that supposed to mean? It will probably fit perfectly too. 

This shirt makes Babe’s stomach do a not-wholly-uncomfortable flip, because who buys their roommate a _Confused and Horny_ shirt? Is Gene actually trying to get him laid? Maybe Eugene just wants Babe out of his hair. He has been hanging out at home a lot lately. Maybe he’s been a little too obvious with his affections and Gene is trying to find him a life, like the one he has here isn’t already pretty close to perfect. 

“You think I’m not going to wear this, but you just wait. When I go out on Friday, this shirt is coming with me. I have a good feeling here, Gene!”

Gene rolls his eyes and returns to his coffee, a small grin still on his face. “Glad you like the shirt, Heffron.”

The shirt does, indeed, work. _Maybe a little too well_. Doing the walk of shame back to his apartment at 1:30 am after a spectacularly short interlude with the bartender in the stock room after last call? Not really what he was expecting with this shirt, although he should’ve been, considering it fit him perfectly and made him look like a snacc. He’d almost forgotten that Gene was a perfectionist. Of course the shirt didn’t fall short.

_At least the dry spell is broken, so I can stop fantasizing about my roommate._ Sacrifices sometimes must be made. Babe unlocks the door with the thought that maybe he’s turning over a new leaf or starting a new chapter and moving on from his constant thoughts of the greatness of a certain roommate. 

Babe is shocked when he walks into the apartment to find Eugene on the floor with an obscenely thick textbook and three notebooks. “Waiting up for me?” 

“Yes, I have no life but to wait around for you,” Gene smirks. Then he points at the mess on the floor. “Presentation tomorrow. Just finished my notes. Had too much coffee, not sure what to do with myself now. How was your night?”

“Well, for starters, the shirt worked.” Babe says with a smile that he doesn’t quite feel. 

Gene’s eyebrows dart up his forehead, and he falters for a second before catching himself. “Oh, well that’s… that’s good, right?”

“You would think so, Gene. You would really think so.”

Gene scoots from the floor up onto the couch and Babe takes this as an invitation, flopping down with his legs over the arm and his head leaning against Gene’s thigh. “It did. It worked. But I still feel kind of, I don’t know, broken? He didn’t give me his number, or anything, and I think... I think I need more than just the sex. Gene, I think I’ve officially reached that point in every man’s life when he needs cuddles too. Who have I become?” 

Babe makes an obnoxiously sad and defeated face to go with his woes, but Gene just squints at him disapprovingly. 

“I mean, you do like to cuddle, and you have very few physical boundaries,” Gene says while gesticulating toward their current positions. “It shouldn’t shock you that the feeling might carry over into bedrooms and broom closets.”

“Wait, do my cuddles bother you?” Babe asks, nervous that he’s spent a year overstepping and Gene was too nice to say anything. He’d be sad to lose the easy affection, but Gene’s comfort in his home is of utmost importance to Babe. Even if it will crush him a little.

“Course not. I’d tell you if it did.” Gene emphasizes his point by dragging his fingers through Babe’s hair on just this side of too hard. Babe barely manages to stifle a moan. Maybe it’s immature or some level of fucked codependent to rely on his roommate for these sorts of physical intimacy. He’s too drunk to worry. And he really needs the cuddles. 

“Maybe you’re still not broadcasting the right vibe.”

“What should I broadcast? A cuddling vibe? How do I go about that? I’m thinking I should just settle into my role as undateable.”

“You’re not _undateable_ , Babe. I promise.” 

With that, Gene goes back to his notes, only this time from the couch with Babe’s head leaning against his thigh. Babe thinks maybe undateable isn’t so bad if it’s like this.

——

The next week, Babe gets another package. They are eating lunch on a rare lazy Saturday when Babe picks up the envelope and rips it open. Inside is another impossibly soft shirt in a light shade of grey. 

Gene has outdone himself this time, because this one has a pink glittery _DTC_ right across the front, with the explanation of _Down to Cuddle_ on the back.

“Again, Gene? Really?”

“Well, the first one worked so well, and I think this might be a better fit.” 

“Perfect, because I have a date tonight.” Babe thinks maybe Gene is testing the limit of his shame. Little does he know Babe has none.

“Oh? With who?”

“New guy at Frannie’s work. I’m pretty sure this is one of those ‘hey you’re gay and he’s gay so of course you’ll love each other’ set ups that the straights love. I have been on more blind dates with gay men who I have literally nothing in common with than I’d like to admit, Eugene.”

“You could say no, ya know.”

“Nah, it’d hurt Frannie’s feelings. Besides, I got nothing better to do tonight apart from hang with you, and now that I have this shirt to protect me I think I’ll be fine.” Babe smiles through the explanation, but somewhere inside he’s also maybe hoping for Eugene to ask him to stay home? He would really prefer to stay home in a nest of blankets with Gene, but he’ll take the healthy road and blame the lapse in judgement on a long week.

Babe stumbles back into the apartment 2 hours after leaving, annoyed and tipsy. Gene is in almost the exact same position on the couch. He looks up, cocks an eyebrow, and looks at his watch. Babe groans.

“It is a testament to how bad that date was that you didn’t even have a chance to get up before I got home,” Babe whines, flopping down once again onto the couch. This is becoming a routine that he hates as much as he loves.

“Oh, I was planning to be here for the long haul. Planet Earth marathon. Too burnt out for much else.” Gene says like Babe knows what the hell he’s talking about. Sounds nice though. He should have just stayed home. “What was wrong with this one? Was it the shirt?”

“Okay, it wasn’t totally the shirt, but it definitely didn’t help. I think the problem is that the _Down to Cuddle_ is written on the back. It just says _DTC_ on the front. He made 700 puns about what DTC could possibly mean. It stopped being funny after four, Gene!”

“Seven _hundred_ puns, Edward? That’s a lot of puns.”

“Can you not harass me right now? I had a man, in the same breath, lament that I’m not in college and then ask me if I was Down To Cha Cha an hour ago. I’m fragile. He was cute, too, but after two drinks and then dinner and then a quick two more drinks I just _couldn’t take it anymore._ Oh, and in the absolute panic of trying to avoid his judgments and his puns, I may have started a conversation about using butter as lube. Butter is not lube, Gene. How do these things even come out of my mouth?” Babe pouted after that statement and slid further down the couch. 

“Hmm, butter certainly shouldn’t be used as lube. The milk proteins can become rancid pretty quickly.” Babe’s eyes shift slowly from the TV to his roommate at that comment. Gene is sitting cross legged, looking over at him, with that stupid fucking grin on his face. 

“It’s not funny Gene! I’m aware butter is not a lube! I do not need a doctor to remind me!”

“Not a doctor yet. And we’ll have to just get you a new shirt then. I’ll think of something.”

——

Three days later, another package. _Butter Me Up_ is written on the front, and Oh My Lord, _Butter is not Lube_ is on the back. Gene has outdone himself. This may break Babe. He does not think he can actually bring himself to wear this one out. 

On the other hand, these shirts are the highlight of his dating life right now. That should say a lot about the dating pool in Philadelphia on this fine morning, but really it’s more a reflection of where Babe’s head is at. It really can’t hurt to wear it out. At least then his date will know exactly what he’s getting himself into, which, now that Babe thinks about it, might be the point. 

It bothers but does not shock him that Gene is the one that has figured it out for him.

Thursday night finds Babe once again flopping down on the couch next to his very pretty and very stressed roommate. There are half a dozen books littered around the couch, and Babe has to move two books to really make the appropriate scene. The fact that this moment feels normal to the point of being rehearsed is not lost on either of them, he thinks. 

“How’d it go? Were there butter related puns, or did this one manage to rise above?”

“So, this is going to come as a shock to you, but he loved the shirt, and we hit it off. His name is Wayne, and we’re going out again on Sunday afternoon.” Babe says, tentatively.

Gene’s eyes are unreadable when he looks up from his notes. “Sunday? This Sunday?” 

“Yea, there’s a popup beer garden that he suggested going to, and I figured I should probably take him up on a second date because, you know, he wants to go on one.” For some reason, Babe feels comfortable with Wayne, who also likes to have fun and doesn’t take anything too seriously. He has a fleeting thought that the logistics of it all might actually work out this time.

“Well Babe, I suppose I’m happy for you,” Gene says as he goes back to his work. “Glad I could be of assistance.” 

The room suddenly falls awkwardly silent. Babe considers going to bed, but he props his feet up on the coffee table instead, pretending to scroll through his phone while he analyzes Gene’s mannerisms from afar. The man looks tense. 

“Are you okay?” Babe asks as he leans over to rest a hand on Gene’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just been a lot this week and I have an exam coming up.” Gene says, breathing deeply while placing his hand lightly on top of Babe’s. “No need to worry.”

Babe wakes up three days later in a great mood. Eugene once declared Sundays (his one consistent day off) cooking days. Even when Gene has papers and exams, he always cooks on Sundays. Sunday cooking is Gene’s _thing_ . Eating Gene’s home cooked meals on Sunday afternoons has become _their thing._

However, this particular Sunday when Babe wakes up he is not greeted with the smell of onions, garlic, and celery or the buttery scent of Gene’s famous roux that means gumbo is on the way. Instead he finds a note on the kitchen counter. _Was called in for a meeting, be back at 4._

Who holds meetings on Sundays? Four o’clock is too late for Eugene to really make any of the meals he loves on his Sundays and Babe feels endless amounts of sympathy for the man. Not to mention, Babe is left with no Gene and no delicious gumbo. 

After spending the morning grumbling to himself, Babe decides he should act. Sure, he’s been so terrible in the kitchen in the past that Gene doesn’t usually even allow him to make pasta, but he figures if he has a recipe to follow, he can certainly make something for his roommate to eat when he gets home. 

After considering all his options - Bill and Frannie will ask too many questions, Luz and Web are probably still sleeping, Toye lives off takeout and protein shakes, Lieb will laugh at him, Dick and Nix are on vacation- he decides to call his mom. Even though he can’t really remember anything they ate growing up that he would consider a specialty or something she would want to pass down, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

She picks up on the first ring. “Edward Heffron, I have not heard from you in a week! How are you even doing? Are you surviving? Do you need anything?” She would continue if he didn’t cut her off - the woman is the queen of asking a hundred questions and not waiting for a reply.

“Ma! Ma, I need a favor. I know it’s been a while, but I’m desperate”

“Oh! Honey, what’s the matter? What happened? Do I need to come over?”

“My God, Ma, no everyone is fine. Bill’s fine, I’m fine, everyone’s fine. I just… I need a recipe. I need a good dinner recipe.”

“Honey, you know I’m not a fancy cook like that! I just throw food into a pot and let it simmer. You just need a protein, a vegetable, and a starch, and you’re all set. Try making some chicken and green beans with mashed potatoes! You’ll be fine!”

“Ma! I am cooking for Dr. Eugene Roe because he has had a bad day, and I’m not making the man chicken with green beans and potatoes. I need something with pizazz! Pizazz ma!”

“Oh honey, check the google, I’m just not sure.”

He almost hangs up in a huff because she’s being so incredibly unhelpful, but this is his mother, so Babe falls back on his old manners. He keeps her on the phone for 10 agonizing minutes telling her about work, the apartment, Bill and Frannie, and his plans for the week before being shooed off the phone. It looks like he’s on his own, because no matter how he wishes, calling Mama Roe is just not in the cards today. Google it is. He sends a little prayer to God and pulls out his phone.

An hour into googling recipes that look like that one his grandmother used to make, a text comes in from Wayne. _Butter Me Up_ guy. Shit. Babe suddenly remembers they are supposed to meet up for beers this afternoon. He could scrap the cooking and go out for beers. It’s not like Gene expects anything anyway. 

Babe: _Hey, I’m sorry, something came up with my roommate and I think I’m going to have to cancel_.

Buttered Up Wayne: _I’m already on the train, but that’s cool. Thanks for the heads up._

The sarcasm seems unnecessary, but Babe figures he’d probably be pretty pissed if he got stood up 20 minutes before a date. The irresponsibility of it makes him feel icky, like maybe this is why things never work out, but he soldiers on. Gene will have a nice meal with leftovers if it kills him. It might kill him. This was a terrible idea. 

When Gene comes home at four, every window is open and the kitchen looks like a tornado passed through. Babe got the smoke alarm to stop blaring before his roommate reappeared, but it still doesn’t change the fact that Babe is a mess, the kitchen is a mess, and it still smells vaguely of burning broccoli and singed hair. Thankfully it’s just arm hair, because a bald spot or missing eyebrow is something the crew will never let him live down. 

Gene looks incredulous when he walks into the kitchen, but Babe just smiles as wide as he can, because maybe it’s the thought that counts here as much as with his coffee. God he really needs to learn to be more of an adult. It’s just so easy to avoid when Gene takes such good care of him. _Oh, that’s not a train of thought we should jump on._

“Edward. What in the hell happened here? What were you even trying to accomplish?”

“Well, I know how special Sundays are to you, and I was trying to surprise you with something to eat when you got home from your meetings, but I lost track of where I was in the recipe and then the bechamel sauce started to burn so I had to fix that but then everything ELSE started to burn and it kind of maybe just got away from me?” 

“What were you trying to make?” Eugene says with practiced calm, still standing in the doorway with his beautiful eyes, wide like saucers, taking in the destruction.

“I was trying to make you this fancy broccoli casserole with chicken, because it’s something my grandmother used to make, but she died and didn’t leave a recipe so I looked one up and it said to make a bechamel and I’ve seen you make a bechamel and you make it look so easy but it’s _NOT_ easy, Gene.”

“Edward, why would you jump right into something so complicated?” Gene says with a grin, like this failure isn’t killing Babe. He spent all day with this. All the air suddenly leaves him, and he leans into the counter with his head down. 

“I just wanted to do something nice. I’ll clean it up.” He wipes his hands down his pants, looking for some movement that will distract him.

“I can help you, and then why don’t we order a pizza.” Gene comes over and squeezes both of Babe’s biceps before he turns to get started on the cleanup. 

Although still feeling like a failure, the camaraderie helps. Babe bumps Gene’s shoulder as he leans in to grab a sponge. He’s pretty sure he’ll need to sponge the entire kitchen at this point. Flour really does get everywhere. What a fucking disaster.

Two hours later Babe is back on the couch with Gene, snuggled up under three blankets. The pizza and chickie tendies are delicious - definitely better than whatever would have come out of that oven - but it still doesn’t change the fact that Babe is an absolute nightmare in the kitchen, which is something he really should learn to fix. Maybe someday he’ll ask Gene to teach him his ways in the kitchen. For now he’ll just lean his head against his roommate’s shoulder while they watch Planet Earth for the fourth time. 

“I just can’t get enough of this scene with the bats and the hawk. It’s so cool. Nature is so cool.” 

Something suddenly dawns on Babe, and he can’t help but raise his head. “Hey Gene, I didn’t get another t-shirt after that last date! Have you already given up hope?”

“I thought you had a second date with that last one, so I didn’t bother to get you a new shirt. No need to fix it if it ain’t broke.”

“Oh, yea, no, that’s… I don’t think he’ll be calling me again.” Babe is, surprisingly, not shocked or particularly upset about the abrupt departure of that potential partner. When Gene shrugs his shoulder and jostles Babe’s head, he finally looks up at his roommate. The set of Gene’s eyebrows holds a lot of questions. 

“I kind of ditched him to make you a broccoli casserole, please don’t make a big deal out of it.” 

Gene stares at him in a totally indecipherable way, and then he casts his eyes back down and mutters, “Thanks. I appreciate you trying to salvage my Sunday. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

There’s a moment of quiet, Babe looking at Gene who’s looking at his own hands, but then an animal noise on the TV distracts them both. The moment broken, Babe reacts in the only way he can think of. He punches Gene’s shoulder. 

“It’s ok. We’re here now, right?”

——

By the next Monday, Babe has bounced back enough to set up a coffee date with a new guy for Thursday, but he’s starting to worry he might have to cancel. The running joke has now turned into a weird superstition, and he just doesn’t think he’ll make it without the added confidence that a shirt from Gene would provide. If that’s not something he should certainly analyze, he doesn’t know what is. 

On Wednesday, a package arrives with Babe’s name on it. His excitement knows no bounds. 

The shirt is soft and blue and looks so comfortable, how does Gene find these masterpieces? And written across the front? _Kiss Me and Keep Me Out of the Kitchen._ Babe’s first thought is to text Gene. 

Babe: _Really Eugene? This is what you’ve come up with? How is this going to help me score a second date?_

Dr. Eugene Roe: _I just felt that any future suitor should be warned is all_.

Babe can hear Gene’s grin from across town.

Come Thursday, Babe puts on his new shirt to wear it on his date. When he comes in at a reasonable hour and flops unceremoniously, again, on the couch, Gene’s only response is “Uh oh.” 

“That pretty much sums it up, Gene. Pretty much fucking sums it up.” Babe puts his elbows on his knees and bends over to scrub his fingers through his hair. 

“Do you want to tell me, or do you just want me to put something funny on?” 

“I want you to tell me how to keep my mouth closed about stupid shit on dates. How am I this awkward? I’m not even sure what I did, but I clearly put my foot in my mouth”

“Oh. Now you have to tell me,” Gene replies with that stupid perfect grin. 

Gene puts on the baking show as Babe proceeds to recall the borderline humiliation of his date. He is wracking his brain for details, trying to weed out what specifically made this guy turn tail and run. Well, not that bad, but he didn’t even get a handshake in the end.

“Oh! He asked about the shirt. I mean, looking back it’s a pretty funny story, right? So I tell him the punchline but he’s all ‘No no, go back to the beginning!’ So I tell him all about you, and our Sunday thing, and how you had a meeting, so I felt bad, and then I was in it at that point so I told him how I fucking forgot about my date and had to cancel, and then how I burnt the entire meal, and was really upset but then you came home and helped me clean the kitchen and ordered me pizza and smothered me in blankets, and the whole time the guy is just staring at me.”

When Babe looks up, Gene is also just staring at him. What is it about this fucking story? He thinks back over what he said and - Oh Jesus Christ - he sounds like he’s a love sick fucking puppy. He is absolutely not a love sick puppy, but that isn’t what it sounds like. It sounds like he’s obsessed. With Gene. His roommate.

At least now it’s obvious why the guy drove away without a goodbye, but now Babe is struck with a secondary, unintended consequence. _Is Gene going to think the same thing?_ Babe has no idea what to do in this situation, but going completely silent for however long he already has is most certainly not it. So he barks out a laugh.

“Oh Jesus, no wonder he was confused! Apparently I make us sound like an old married couple!” Babe says, still laughing. 

“Yea, Babe, maybe that was a few too many details. I don’t think you had to describe me so... intricately. I appreciate the effort, but I’m not trying to date the guy.” Gene huffs out a laugh.

“Ok, so I know where I went wrong on that one. My babbling knows no bounds. Now I can watch these people fuck up their meat pies in relative peace. Thank goodness.” Babe leans back and closes his eyes, thankful that things are mostly ok. His momentary lack of judgement hopefully doesn’t make Gene uncomfortable. He really isn’t a love sick puppy, he just really likes his roommate. 

Is it so revolutionary to actually like, respect, and want to spend time with the person you live with? He has heard horror stories about terrible roommates, and he knows for a fact that while Luz and Web love each other, they hate living together and are just waiting on their boyfriends to come around to the idea of cohabitation so they can be out of each other’s hair. 

Things here, with Eugene, are just so easy that sometimes Babe forgets that it’s not normal to be low key obsessed with your roommate. The guy takes extremely good care of Babe, even though Babe asks him for next to nothing, and sometimes when he lets his guard down and goes along for the ride he’s incredibly fun to hang out with. And the ease with which Gene gets embarrassed is an endless source of entertainment. They work. Babe will take it however he can get it, and he thinks maybe, most days, Gene feels the same.

When he looks over, Gene takes his eyes off the TV for a moment to look back. When Babe’s answer to his smile is to pick up a hand and playfully shove Gene’s face back, Gene laughs and goes back to watching the show. See? Bliss.

—-

A week goes by, and no new package has come for Babe. He’s hoping some sort of self deprecating t-shirt will arrive to signal that everything is okay between the two of them, but so far nothing. On the other hand, maybe Babe needs a bit of a break from dating. None of it really worked out, and he just doesn’t need the constant blows to his self esteem. Maybe his mom was right - maybe he is a late bloomer. 

On Sunday, Gene decides to cook, which makes Babe inordinately happy. When Gene needs to check a recipe while elbow deep in a bowl of ground beef, he asks Babe to go into his room and grab his phone off the charger. On his way back out, Babe notices a familiar looking package on Gene’s desk under two textbooks. Babe is not one to avoid temptation or abide by normal boundaries, so he walks over to look at the envelope. Since it’s addressed to him, he opens it, wondering why Gene would have kept this latest shirt from him. 

The shirt falls out and Babe first notes that it is obnoxiously bright pink. He wonders if Gene knows this is his secret favorite color. When he opens the shirt up, across the front it says _Stop Me if I’m Rambling About My Perfect Roommate._ Babe barks a laugh at the truth of the statement. His roommate is fucking perfect. Glad Gene at least knows it. Such an ass.

Babe decides that someone needs to appreciate his new shirt, and the only person who will not walk right back out when he sees Babe in this shirt is standing in the kitchen making them supper. He wavers for a few moments, wondering whether wearing this shirt to eat Gene’s homemade food will feel like he’s forcing something. 

Then he remembers that Gene is the one who bought him the shirt. He’ll appreciate the irony. Plus, there is no fucking way Babe can wear the shirt on a date, which is probably why Gene didn’t give it to him. 

Gene’s eyes when Babe walks into the kitchen in the most recent shirt are comically large. “Oh. You weren’t supposed to find that one. It was a draft, and I accidentally hit purchase.”

“Wait. What do you mean a draft?”

“Well, I, um, I looked at three different online and independent retailers and couldn’t find the perfect _Confused and Horny_ shirt, so instead I found a company willing to make one offs.”

Babe is thankful to be sitting down, because he otherwise might have fallen over. Eugene Roe, his perfect roommate, designed and ordered what had to be ridiculously expensive hand made shirts to cheer Babe up while he was having trouble finding love. Eugene Roe, who was notorious about not spending money unless it was on blankets or otherwise absolutely necessary, bought his roommate a plethora of t-shirts to make his life a little more bearable. And when called on it, has the audacity to just shrug. 

“Thanks, Gene. I love the shirts. Even this one, you asshole.” Babe smiles at Gene as he puts the finishing touches on the sauce and twirls spaghetti around a giant fork.

As Gene serves the spaghetti with the sauce and meatballs he’s been cooking all day, Babe grabs napkins, forks, knives, and drinks for the both of them. They clink their beers together, as is Sunday tradition, before Babe pushes play on the second series of the baking show. 

“So, I can put a rush on the real next shirt, if you need it for a date this week.”

“Nah, I think I’m on a bit of a hiatus. So this last shirt was perfect. The guys will get a kick out of it when I wear it to the bar for LuzToye Day next week.” Babe smiles as he makes the decision that this shirt is absolutely the perfect shirt for his best friends’ anniversary. It will be worth the shit they’ll give him. Plus the color is utter perfection. 

“Edward, you know it’s ok to just be by yourself, right? It doesn’t make you broken.”

“Yea, I know. But it’s also fun to have a boyfriend. Or at least I think it is. You looked cozy with Chuck last year.”

“That was… a relationship made of coincidence and convenience. Since things with Chuck fizzled, I don’t plan to have anyone new any time soon.”

Babe is okay with this revelation, because that means they get to hang out more. But he’s not sure he can make the same promise. “I wish I could just make a decision to not want a significant other. I think I’ll always be looking, and probably never think I’m deserving.” 

Gene shoves Babe’s shoulder at that comment. When Babe responds with a shrug, Gene throws his arm around Babe’s shoulders and pulls him in. It’s warm and comfortable, but it’s clear that Gene has something to say. 

“Babe. You need to start telling yourself you’re good enough. Then you need to believe it. Because you are. Worth it.” Gene smiles, and Babe knows some bullshit is about to come out this boy's mouth. He is not disappointed. “Just keep telling yourself, ‘this person is the lucky one, and they should be thankful to even get me into bed.’”

This might be the most words Gene has said at one time since the last time Babe was treated to a bad day diatribe. “Gene, I don’t think positive thoughts and affirmations will magically find me a boyfriend.”

“Probably not. Worth a try though.”

At that, they both let the issue lie and go back to their delicious spaghetti and meatballs. Babe houses two platefuls while they laugh at people who cry over cakes and scream at profiteroles. Maybe he can eventually figure out how to be happy by himself, as long as that means Sundays eating gourmet food with his perfect roommate.

\----

A month later, the boys plan an outing to their favorite bar to celebrate Joe passing his EMT exams. Luz wanted to host a medical themed party (with bags of fake blood and shots in syringes) but Joe shot that idea down quickly. So off to the bar they will go. Before leaving, Babe pulls an envelope out from his desk drawer and presents it to Gene. 

“Hey Gene, I uh… I got you something,” Babe says, barely able to contain his grin. He hopes this is appropriate payback. 

Gene opens the package to a cozy navy blue tshirt. When he unfolds it, the front reads _You should just be thankful to get me into bed._ Babe giggles at Gene’s purposefully blank face. He knows that look. That particular look is his roommate trying not to laugh. He fails. 

“Edward Heffron, you _couillon_ , how long have you been holding on to this? Were you waiting for the exact right moment so I would be forced to wear this in public?” 

“That is precisely what my plan was, mon ami. The guys are going to get a fucking kick out of this. I wore all your shirts, it’s only fitting you wear this one. I even used your favorite colors, and I got it without the glitter. You’re welcome. I have the utmost confidence that this shirt will work as well as any of the ones I wore.” 

“First off, who said I’m looking to take anyone to bed?” At this, Babe raises an eyebrow. What kind of person was ever _not_ looking to take someone to bed? Right. The Eugene Roe kind of person. “Second, who would actually go home with a person who expects them to be thankful? That’s… horrifying.”

“I don’t know, I’d fuck my date if he came dressed like that. It’s all about the confidence.” At that, Gene stops and looks Babe in the eye, like he’s pondering Babe’s words. It’s an awkward moment of chicken, because Babe isn’t going to explain anything and Gene isn’t going to ask. So instead of addressing anything, they forge on. 

“This is definitely why you’re still single. But if it’ll get me a man like Edward Heffron, I’ll wear the stupid shirt.”

Babe blushes and then laughs at the absurdity of Gene even wanting a guy like Babe. “Nah Gene, I’m single because of logistics. And because I can’t keep my mouth shut when I’m nervous. So be warned, that’s what guys like Babe Heffron are like.”

Four hours, three rounds of karaoke, and a near miss bar fight later, Babe and Gene stumble back to the apartment and dive into the mound of blankets on the couch. Tired, drunk, and happy they roll around until both are comfortable. 

“Any luck with the shirt tonight, Gene?”

“Apparently this shirt actually only works on Babe Heffrons.”

“Well Gene, unfortunately for you there’s only one of me, and this is it.”

After a long pause, Gene rests his head on Babe’s thigh and says, “Yea. Too bad.”

At this point, Babe begins panicking, because what the hell is that supposed to mean? What is Gene even saying? At his own continued silence, he can feel Gene’s muscles also tensing up. This moment just got really uncomfortable, and Babe’s brain subsequently short circuits. He can feel the inane facts spilling up his esophagus and into the air.

“I watched a documentary on wombats the other day! They are interesting creatures. Did you know a group of wombats is called a wisdom? I thought a gang of turkeys was cool, but a wisdom of wombats is by far my new favorite. Also, their poops are square. Something about not rolling off rocks? Who cares, square poop is amazing.” 

Babe continues to relay any and all facts about wombats that crowd his head. He hates when he goes on these rants, but once he’s started it’s hard to get his brain to shut off. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I’m doing it again.”

But Gene just slowly blinks up at him from what might as well be his lap and pulls the blanket up further. “What? No, I don’t mind. Keep going. I love your rambles. They’re nice. They remind me of home. Tell me more about horny confused wombats.”

So Babe keeps talking. He recaps almost the entirety of the show he watched, because Eugene Roe asked him to keep talking and he’s nothing if not loyal to anything that man asks. It’s a good relationship. It’s a good friendly relation between two people. It’s nice to have this friendship. 

“Ok, seriously, I’m sorry, I’m just keeping you up with-’ but when Babe looks down, Gene is sound asleep on his lap. He pulls the blanket up a little higher on the man’s shoulder, leans his head back, and falls asleep. 

They can figure this whole thing out later. 


End file.
